Chapter 31
The clanging of swords echoed through the courtyard, marking just another ordinary day at Castle Black.
Commander Mormont had resisted the Royce family's demands to punish the three surviving patrol members. Now, these men, who had escaped the blades of the White Walkers, were no longer under suspicion of desertion and could move freely within Castle Black.
On the balcony overlooking the courtyard, Aegor and Tyrion stood leaning against the railings, watching the new recruits train below. The scene reminded Aegor of standing on a college campus, observing younger students during their first military drills.
Unfortunately, there was little to admire among these new recruits—not a single woman among them, nor even many handsome men.
In the center of the yard, Jon stood out, clad in a black wool sweater layered beneath a leather vest and chainmail. He wielded a training sword with practiced ease, sparring with an opponent.
This training batch was the largest in Castle Black's history, with nearly twenty recruits, most aged between fourteen and eighteen. Even among such a group, none could match Jon's skill. Some recruits were agile but timid, like Will, while others fumbled with their swords like children handling daggers. One was so weak he could barely swing his weapon. Most of them, however, were slow and clumsy.
Jon, in comparison, was a tiger among sheep. In just a few minutes, he had defeated four recruits in succession. With a well-timed feint, he disarmed a fifth—a thick-necked recruit, then pushed away the man's sword and struck his abdomen with an elbow. The recruit staggered, lost his balance, and fell heavily into the snow, his dull-edged blade slipping from his grip.
Aegor had to admit that Jon's swordsmanship was every bit as impressive as the boy claimed. Even if Aegor, a "veteran" with a year's service and nearly a decade of experience over Jon, were to duel him, the best outcome he could hope for would be a draw through sheer defensive effort.
The training session came to a halt when the recruit instructor, Alliser Thorne, intervened. Thorne, a former knight who had been exiled to the Wall after backing the losing side in Robert's Rebellion, clearly harbored no affection for Jon Snow, the bastard son of the rebellion's victor. Though Aegor and Tyrion couldn't make out the exact words exchanged between Thorne and Jon, it was obvious the conversation was far from friendly. Jon's face darkened with anger.
"That boy's got talent," Tyrion remarked, shifting uncomfortably. The days of riding had left him sore, and standing was the only position that didn't aggravate the pain. "But for someone who's supposed to be making friends among his new brothers, he's being a little too harsh."
"If he keeps this up, he'll find it hard to get along in the Watch. Someone ought to talk some sense into him."
"You're surprisingly compassionate."
"I can't help it," Tyrion said with a shrug. "I've always had a soft spot for bastards, cripples, and outcasts—anyone dealt a bad hand by the gods."
Aegor smirked. "So, I'm an outcast too, lucky enough to end up on your list. Should I consider myself fortunate or cursed?"
"Hmm… Excellent question. You've got me stumped."
As the days passed, Aegor found himself growing more at ease around Tyrion. The Lannister dwarf had an uncanny charm. Despite his noble lineage, he didn't exude arrogance or condescension. Not being insufferable was, in itself, a rare skill—one that highlighted his intelligence.
At that moment, Tyrion gestured toward the yard. "How are things progressing with the rangers?"
"The Chief Ranger is already preparing for the next patrol. I'll be leading the way," Aegor replied, his tone deliberately nonchalant, though inwardly he felt a gnawing anxiety. "How long do you plan to stay at the Wall?"
"I can stay as long as I like. It's not as if I have a kingdom to govern," Tyrion said with a shrug. "How long does a patrol usually take?"
"Anywhere from one or two months to half a year," Aegor replied.
"That's unfortunate. I was hoping you'd catch a White Walker and bring it back for me to see. You know, to prove you weren't exaggerating." Tyrion's expression was one of exaggerated regret. "I came here mainly to see the legendary Wall, climb to the top, and piss off the edge of the world. But I can't stay here for that long."
Catch a White Walker? Aegor couldn't help but feel the absurdity of the suggestion. The collection of dragonglass weapons had only just begun. At present, the amount of obsidian available wasn't even enough to properly outfit a patrol team. And despite its usefulness against White Walkers, dragonglass was brittle—too fragile to be wielded like conventional weapons such as Valyrian steel.
Dragonglass weapons weren't a solution to decisively turn the tide; at best, they gave humanity a faint chance of survival against the White Walkers. With no preparations and no real strategy, returning alive from beyond the Wall would already be a miracle. Catching a White Walker alive? That wasn't even worth considering.
The Night's Watch was far from ready to deal with the threat of White Walkers, but the stubbornness of the Stark bloodline clearly ran deep. Benjen Stark refused to delay or cancel the patrol, no matter how Aegor tried to dissuade him.
"My lord, it might be possible to capture a wight," Aegor said, choosing his words carefully. "But a White Walker... Forgive us, that's far beyond our ability. This patrol led by Ser Benjen is meant to verify the truth of the White Walkers' existence. If he returns with evidence, then perhaps the Night's Watch can plan a larger operation to prove the threat to the rest of the world..."
Joining this patrol would almost certainly be a death sentence. Avoiding the mission was the only way to survive. Yet, no matter how dire the circumstances, Aegor couldn't afford to push Tyrion too hard. The dwarf, after all, was a true Lannister and a highborn noble. Tyrion had already promised to help him, any further pleading might come across as desperate or disrespectful.
"Relax," Tyrion interrupted, brushing off the explanation with a casual wave of his hand. "It was just a joke. I'm willing to take you away from the Wall, but not because you've killed some ridiculous magical creature. No need to explain yourself."
Tyrion shrugged again. "I'll go talk to your commander and arrange it. Oh, and stop calling me 'my lord.'"
"Alright, Tyrion," Aegor replied, exhaling in relief. He gave the dwarf a grateful smile. "I'll wait for your good news."
"I'll do my best not to disappoint you," Tyrion said as he shuffled away toward the commander's office, his short legs carrying him in a brisk, awkward gait. A few steps later, he paused, turned back, and waved a hand dismissively. "Find a place to sit down. No need to stand around waiting for me here."
And with that, the dwarf disappeared into the corridors of Castle Black.
Chapter 32
"Tyrion." The Lord Commander nodded at the dwarf seated across from him. As the former Lord of Bear Island and a man of considerable standing in the North, Jeor Mormont had the right to address him directly by name. "Are you enjoying your stay at the Wall?"
"Thank you for asking, Lord Commander. Apart from my numb backside and the delightful chill that keeps me shivering at night, everything's been splendid," Tyrion replied, settling himself into the chair with a faint smile. "Though I must say, being ambushed by a group of wildlings on the way was a unique and thrilling experience. One I could've happily done without."
"The failure to stop wildlings beyond the Wall lies with the Night's Watch. Please accept our apologies," Mormont said, his tone somber.
"Very well, I forgive you," Tyrion said with a shrug, shifting uncomfortably to ease the pressure on his sore behind. "I've taken some time to familiarize myself with the state of the Night's Watch over the past few days, and I must admit, I can't find it in me to criticize you too harshly. But—if I'm being honest—no matter how short-handed you are, it's still your responsibility to keep the wildlings at bay. This time, Benjen and his men kept me safe, but what happens when wildlings slip past you again? If they strike deeper into the North, attack Umber, Karstark, or even harm the Stark family or their bannermen, it would create chaos. Don't you agree?"
"Yes," Mormont admitted with a deep frown. "The wildlings climb over the Wall near the unmanned gaps between our fortresses, row across the Bay of Seals past our two pitiful patrol boats, and slip through the foothills near the Shadow Tower. The Night's Watch tries to intercept them, but we are stretched too thin to cover every weakness. I've already instructed Maester Aemon to send word to the lords of the North, and Lord Stark has agreed to raise temporary forces for our use. The problem is, I don't know how long it will take for those forces to be gathered and sent."
"Lord Stark is a good man," Tyrion said, his expression tinged with regret. "But even the best of men cannot halt the decline of the Night's Watch. It pains me to see this once-proud shield of humanity reduced to such a sorry state." He paused, then continued with a slight smirk, "That's why I've decided to provide funding to the Night's Watch."
"Ah?"
Even Jeor Mormont, a man known for his composure, blinked in surprise at the declaration. The population of the Gift and New Gift under the Watch's control barely exceeded 10,000, far too small to sustain the nearly 1,000 members of the Night's Watch. Over the years, financial aid had quietly become the Black Brothers' main source of food, wages, and supplies.
As Lord Commander, Mormont was no stranger to soliciting support from nobles, and he had been considering how best to appeal to Tyrion Lannister for aid. That the Lannister dwarf would volunteer assistance without prompting caught him completely off guard. So much so that, in his excitement, he adjusted his tone immediately: "That... That is most generous of you, my lord. The Night's Watch will be forever grateful for your kindness and your consideration of the greater good!"
"Hold on," Tyrion said, raising a hand. "There's a condition attached—I want to nominate someone to accompany me to King's Landing to receive this 'funding.'"
"Who?"
"Aegor. The ranger you sent to Winterfell not long ago."
"That's a reasonable request," Mormont replied, quickly regaining his composure. He studied Tyrion for a long moment before speaking again, his tone cautious. "But the rangers are short of men as it is. He will need to return as soon as possible."
"I haven't finished yet," Tyrion said quickly, noting the way Mormont's sharp gaze seemed to cut right through him. As expected of the former Lord of Bear Island, Tyrion thought, and hurried to clarify. "He won't just accept my funding and then return. He must also remain in King's Landing to continue securing food and supplies for the Night's Watch."
Mormont fell silent for a moment before responding carefully. "Tyrion, the vows of the Night's Watch are for life. No one joins and then leaves."
"I understand and respect that tradition," Tyrion said smoothly, leaning forward. "But he would still be serving the Night's Watch. His station would simply shift to King's Landing, where he could act as a supply collector, ensuring ongoing support for the Wall. King's Landing is the largest city in Westeros, teeming with lords and merchants. Securing additional funds and resources would be far easier there than it is here."
Mormont shook his head. "Tyrion, I won't pretend to understand why you're so determined to help this man, but let me speak plainly. The Night's Watch lacks many things—food, funding, and equipment—but what we lack most is manpower. Yes, our resources are stretched thin, but we could scrape by for months by rationing supplies or relying on the Northern lords. Starvation is not an immediate threat.
"But people," Mormont continued, his voice heavy with frustration, "are another matter. We have fewer than a thousand brothers left: 600 here at Castle Black, 200 at the Shadow Tower, and even fewer at Eastwatch. Of those, less than a third are capable fighters. The Wall is 300 miles long. If an attack came, I'd be able to station only three men per mile. Think about that, Tyrion."
"Three and a third," Tyrion quipped with a yawn. "Not even that, if we're being precise. And let's not pretend they'd all be needed. I doubt your enemies will bother attacking every mile of the Wall. Besides, King's Landing has a population of half a million. Pull a few from the slums and send them here, they'd fill those empty towers in no time. Don't you already have crows like Yoren roaming around Westeros recruiting? Why can't Aegor do the same?"
"This is different," Mormont countered, his voice firm. "The crows who roam are veterans—men who've grown old in service. Their best fighting days are behind them, and sending them south is the only way to make use of what strength they have left. They've taken root here and have nowhere else to go. Even then, we calculate their travel costs and ensure they can't linger too long after completing their missions.
"But Aegor is not the same. He's young, strong, and intelligent, exactly the kind of man we desperately need here. If I let him go, I might never get him back, even if I sent men to drag him back. And," Mormont added with a grumble, "the Night's Watch already has plenty of boys from the slums. The men we receive these days are stable hands, thieves, and rapists. Yes, they make up the numbers, but we're sorely lacking in men capable of training, managing, or even leading them. Right now, there are fewer than thirty men at the Wall who can read, let alone think strategically or plan operations.
"Frankly, Lord Tyrion," he continued, his voice tinged with exasperation, "I'd rather ask you to stay at Castle Black to help us than to send Aegor away."
"You give me far too much credit," Tyrion replied with a smirk. "But if you don't mind, I'd be happy to send all the dwarves in Westeros to join the Watch."
The joke fell flat. Mormont's stern expression didn't waver. He shook his head. "Forgive me, Tyrion, but I can't accept your proposal. I won't force you to provide financial support, but please don't ask me to let him leave again."
--
Damn it, why couldn't this old man be a little slower, a little easier to fool? Tyrion cursed inwardly. Jeor Mormont was far too sharp for Tyrion's liking. And while the dwarf prided himself on keeping his promises, he hated the thought of letting down a friend. After a moment's thought, he decided to play his last card.
"Commander," Tyrion said, his tone growing serious, "let me put it this way: I swear on the honor of the Lannister name that Aegor will not desert. If you lose a capable soldier because of me, I will personally compensate you with a dozen replacements not thieves or rapists, but men I will train, discipline, and prepare for you. What do you say to that?"
Mormont let out a heavy sigh, his frustration evident. His earlier refusal had been firm, yet Tyrion persisted, bringing up his family's honor—a veiled reminder of the Lannisters' influence. The subtext was clear: I am taking this man with me, so grant me this favor.
Mormont understood the implication all too well. Refusing Tyrion now would mean offending a powerful ally.
Chapter 33
What does it mean to offend the Lannisters?
There is a well-known song in Westeros, sung from the courts of kings to the firesides of peasants. It is called The Rains of Castamere, also infamously known as Tywin's Curse.
The song recounts the complete annihilation of House Reyne, a once-proud Westerlands family. They shared the lion sigil with House Lannister, built their wealth on gold mines, and rivaled Tywin Lannister in power and prestige. But they made the grave mistake of defying Tywin before he became Hand of the King. In one decisive battle, House Reyne was wiped out—lords, soldiers, servants, even distant relations were slaughtered or vanished without a trace. Today, most people don't even remember that House Reyne ever existed.
"Massacre of a house and destruction of a legacy" is a concept almost unheard of in Westeros outside of stories about the Targaryens, who once wielded dragons to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. While legally, lords hold the authority to punish vassals in such ways, in the three centuries since Aegon's Conquest, only the Lannisters have executed such ruthless justice.
This act solidified the Lannisters' rule over the Westerlands and cemented their fearsome reputation across the continent. Even Aerys Targaryen, later called the "Mad King," was impressed by Tywin's ruthlessness and brought him to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King.
And Tywin, as history would prove, was indeed more than capable of governing the Seven Kingdoms.
The fear inspired by Tywin's methods lingered long after. When the Farman family of Faircastle resisted their lord's control, Tywin sent a harpist to their hall to play The Rains of Castamere. That alone was enough to make them surrender. When the Freys orchestrated the Red Wedding, they used the song as a signal to begin the massacre, bringing an end to Robb Stark's rebellion. At King Joffrey's wedding feast, the same song was played repeatedly at the suggestion of Olenna Tyrell—a subtle, but grimly prophetic touch, given the fate that awaited the young king.
Even at the Siege of Riverrun, when Jaime Lannister had The Rains of Castamere played outside the castle walls, it was enough to make Edmure Tully surrender without a fight.
This song holds a terrifying power, and that power is backed by the Lannisters' wealth and ruthless will.
--
In short, the Lannisters are not to be trifled with.
But is there anyone in Westeros who isn't afraid of the Lannisters? Of course. Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, for one.
The Night's Watch was far removed from the power games of the South. No matter how fearsome or wealthy House Lannister might be, they could not send their forces to the Wall. The Rains of Castamere? At the Wall, the only thing falling was snow, and the bitter cold would freeze the strings of any harp long before a song could be played.
Even if Tywin himself had made the request, Mormont might not have cared, much less for Tyrion, whom he regarded as little more than a clever, insistent meddler. Still, while Mormont was unafraid of the Lannisters, he had no reason to provoke them unnecessarily. He wasn't in the habit of picking fights just to prove a point. Instead, the grizzled old commander scratched his head and thought of a compromise.
"It's not that I don't want to honor your request, my lord," Mormont said carefully, choosing his words with a touch of politeness. He had decided to pass the decision to others. "But Aegor is a ranger. His transfer must first be approved by his direct superior. Besides, Maester Aemon has already made a special request for him as well."
With that, Mormont turned to his steward and ordered, "Go fetch the Chief Ranger and the Maester."
If there was any combination less intimidated by the Lannisters than Mormont, it would be Benjen Stark, a Stark in his prime with the weight of his family name, and Maester Aemon, a man who had lived long enough to see his own Targaryen relatives wiped out.
Mormont allowed himself a moment of silent satisfaction at his cleverness, though Tyrion looked as though he might explode with frustration. The former Lord of Bear Island might look blunt and straightforward, but there was a sly cunning in his approach.
The summons didn't take long. The Black Brothers' quarters were small, and soon Benjen Stark and Maester Aemon entered the room. After Mormont explained the funding proposal and Tyrion's request, Benjen's expression turned stony.
"Lannister," Benjen said coldly, his tone sharper than his glare. "I don't care how your southern noble games and power plays work. But let me warn you: if you're thinking of poaching men from the Night's Watch, you've come to the wrong place."
"Poaching?" Tyrion was stunned. He prided himself on his sharp wit, but for once, he was caught off guard. "You think I'm trying to recruit him for myself? If I were king, I'd make Aegor Hand of the King! The Seven Kingdoms would benefit from his talents far more than the Wall ever could!"
"You'd make him Hand of the King, would you?" Benjen sneered. "And yet here you are, trying to drag him away from his sworn duty so he can run errands in King's Landing."
"Calm down, Lord Tyrion," Maester Aemon interjected gently. "It's true we didn't fully recognize Aegor's abilities before. But now that we've seen them, we will do our best to make use of his talents. In fact, I've already discussed with Benjen that after this patrol, I plan to bring Aegor into my service. There are tasks here that an illiterate man cannot do."
"Illiterate tasks?" Tyrion scoffed. "Do you mean reading letters and balancing ledgers? Counting rations? Forgive me, Maester, but Aegor is capable of far more than clerical work!"
"With all due respect, Lannister," Benjen said with icy disdain, "he is a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. In life, he fights for the Watch. In death, he is its ghost. No matter how talented he may be, his duty is to the Wall."
Tyrion was momentarily at a loss for words. But the dwarf was never one to give up easily. Inspiration struck, and he smiled slyly. "How can it have nothing to do with me? If the White Walkers you're so concerned about truly exist, then they threaten the entire realm. I may be a dwarf, but I'm still human. Strengthening the Night's Watch helps all of us."
"Strengthening the Watch by stealing away its best men?" Benjen snapped.
"I'm not stealing him," Tyrion shot back. "I'm sending him to where he can do the most good! Do you know why the Night's Watch has fallen so far?"
Benjen raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical. "Enlighten me."
"Because you've isolated yourselves," Tyrion replied, his voice rising with passion. "You cling to traditions, refusing to adapt, refusing to connect with the rest of the realm. The world has changed, but the Watch hasn't. No wonder it's in decline."
Benjen opened his mouth to retort, but Maester Aemon held up a hand. "Tyrion, there is wisdom in what you say. But we are stretched too thin as it is. Losing Aegor would only make our situation worse."
"And clinging to him as you are now will only hasten your decline," Tyrion countered. "The Night's Watch needs to adapt, or it will vanish. Maester, you're the wisest man here. Surely you can see this makes sense?"
Tyrion leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "With Aegor in King's Landing, the resources and allies he could secure for the Watch would far outweigh anything he could accomplish trudging through snow or sorting ledgers."
Chapter 34
The tension in the room was palpable, a silent battle of wills between Tyrion and Benjen. The air felt thick, almost combustible. Thankfully, Tyrion wasn't the sort to escalate into physical confrontation, and Benjen Stark, despite his simmering anger, wasn't going to throw the first punch either.
It was Maester Aemon who finally raised his hand, signaling for the two men to stop arguing. The old maester's blind eyes turned toward Mormont, who had been quietly observing the heated exchange. "Lord Commander," Aemon began calmly, "Dragonstone has sent a reply. They've granted us permission to send people to mine dragonglass."
Mormont raised his eyebrows. "Over there? Surely we can just send a few workers?" But then something clicked in his mind, and his tone shifted. "Wait… you mean?"
The blind maester nodded knowingly. "Dragonstone is quite close to King's Landing. Since Lord Tyrion speaks so highly of Aegor's abilities, why not give the young man a chance to prove himself? He crossed the Narrow Sea to come here and became a brother of the Night's Watch for something as trivial as stealing a few potatoes to stave off hunger. If he finally has a chance to leave, but we deny him that, I doubt he'll ever truly accept his place here. Even if he stays, his heart won't be in it."
Tyrion silently applauded Aemon's words, nodding along with enthusiasm. He turned expectantly toward Mormont, waiting for the commander's decision.
"If you see it that way, I have no objection," Mormont finally said, his respect for Aemon evident in his tone. He turned to Benjen, passing the decision onto the Chief Ranger. "Ask Stark if he's willing to let him go."
The weight of the decision shifted to Benjen Stark once more. The ranger's jaw tightened. He had no desire to let this clever Lannister get his way, but neither did he want to openly oppose Maester Aemon. After a moment, he voiced his hesitation. "And what happens if he doesn't come back? Who will take responsibility for that?"
"Me," Tyrion answered without hesitation. "If he fails the mission or doesn't make a significant contribution to the Night's Watch after leaving, you can recall him. If he deserts, you can hold me accountable."
Benjen's eyes narrowed. "Hold you accountable? Will you come to the Wall to replace him? Or will you send Lannister soldiers to fill the gap? Neither option seems likely. Instead of playing these word games, why not give us something tangible? The Lannisters are the richest family in Westeros, after all. Surely a little more generosity wouldn't hurt, especially since the Night's Watch protects the entire realm."
Tyrion sighed heavily, recognizing this as a calculated blow to his pride and his purse. He gritted his teeth, knowing he was about to take a loss. "Ah, and here I thought Starks cared little for material possessions," he muttered, forcing a tight smile. "Fine. Since it's for the sake of humanity, I won't be stingy. Let's discuss the specifics of my funding for the Watch, as well as the details of Aegor's responsibilities after leaving the Wall."
--
While the negotiations continued inside, Aegor, standing some distance away, kept his gaze fixed on the commander's office.
The arrival of the Chief Ranger and Maester Aemon shortly after Tyrion entered had not gone unnoticed. It was clear that something significant was being discussed. The sight made Aegor uneasy, though he forced himself to stay calm. If he had to put the feeling into words, it was like waiting outside a birthing chamber, wondering if the outcome would bring life—or death.
The outcome of this discussion would determine everything. If Tyrion succeeded, Aegor would be leaving the Wall, leaving the confines of the Night's Watch, and stepping into the vast, opportunity-filled world of Westeros. If he failed, Aegor would resign himself to a life of patrols, snow, and survival. Even if he rose through the ranks—from ranger to squad leader, to possibly Chief Ranger—he would still be shackled to the Wall, forever facing danger and death. For a man with memories of another life, such a fate was unthinkable.
But leaving… If he left, the world would open before him. The label of the Night's Watch might remain, but life was what you made of it. Determination could overcome any obstacle.
After what felt like an eternity, the door opened again. This time, the steward left the room and returned with two additional officers: Bowen Marsh, the First Steward, and Othell Yarwyck, the Chief Builder. Aegor's heart leapt.
It's settled, he thought with growing excitement. Marsh and Yarwyck didn't concern themselves with anything unrelated to their respective duties. The fact that they had been called in likely meant the negotiations had moved to specifics, discussing resources and supplies rather than arguments over principle. In other words, bargaining over the "price" of his departure.
If nothing unexpected happened, the decision would be finalized soon. It wouldn't do to stand around any longer, so Aegor turned back toward the meeting hall and found a seat. There was nothing more to do but wait.
--
The waiting ended after what felt like hours. The wooden door creaked open again, but this time, it wasn't Tyrion who emerged. It was Benjen Stark.
The Chief Ranger's expression was unreadable as he stood in the doorway for a moment, then addressed Aegor curtly. "Aegor, you won't be joining the next patrol. The Lord Commander has assigned you to a more important mission. Prepare yourself to leave with Lannister once he's finished touring the Wall."
Aegor stood quickly, suppressing the grin threatening to break across his face. Though he'd been expecting this outcome, hearing it confirmed sent a thrill of relief through him. "As you command," he replied, trying to keep his tone measured. "But I was supposed to lead the patrol. Now I'm leaving?"
--
What's there to pretend about? Benjen thought, his inner irritation barely masked. He wasn't blind—he knew exactly what had happened. Tyrion Lannister, for whatever reason, had taken a liking to Aegor. The dwarf had gone out of his way to secure this "mission" as a convenient excuse to remove him from the Wall. And Aegor, the supposed beneficiary, was hardly innocent in the matter.
Benjen had no doubt the boy had struck some kind of deal with Tyrion, manipulating the situation to his advantage. It was impressive, in a way. Despite his low rank, Aegor had managed to befriend one of the most cunning men in Westeros and convince him to intervene.
"When it comes to leading patrols, Will is just as capable as you," Benjen said, his tone neutral. Though he wasn't happy about the situation, he didn't hold any personal resentment toward Aegor. The young ranger had done what anyone in his position would do. "You're a clever man. You've found your way off the Wall, and I have no reason to stop you. Just focus on your new mission, complete it well, and don't look back."
Aegor's face flushed slightly, knowing Benjen had likely seen through him. Still, there was no point in denying it. He nodded respectfully. "As you command."
Satisfied with the response, Benjen gave him one last appraising look before turning and walking away.
Chapter 35
After Benjen left, Aegor exited the room, eager to find Tyrion.
Aegor was not a man to rely solely on the goodwill of others. Instead, he used half-truths to pique Tyrion's interest and leave an impression. It was a calculated move, a carefully orchestrated performance. But the process—from Tyrion suggesting a workable plan to leave the Wall, to him speaking briefly with the Lord Commander and securing approval—was not due to Aegor's eloquence or Tyrion being gullible.
The truth was simple: Tyrion's intelligence and social acumen were sharp enough to discern from a few casual words that Aegor wanted out of the patrol, and he had the generosity to help make it happen.
Sometimes Aegor couldn't help but wonder: was Tyrion motivated by curiosity, intrigued by the fabricated story Aegor had told, or was he simply... willing to help a poor soul in trouble?
Ultimately, Tyrion's intentions didn't matter. What mattered was that he had extended a helping hand. This timely act of kindness might very well save Aegor's life and alter his future entirely. Such a favor was one that could only be repaid with a lifetime of loyalty and friendship.
But friendship and loyalty couldn't replace the importance of thanking someone in person. Aegor stepped outside, scanning the surroundings until he quickly spotted his target. A dwarf stood out easily in Castle Black, a place filled with tall men clad in black.
"Thank you, Tyrion. I knew you'd succeed!" Aegor called out.
"Of course. Who could stop the infamous little devil of House Lannister?" Tyrion said smugly, tilting his chin upward. Then he added with a smirk, "Though I must say, I finally understand just how poor the Starks truly are."
"What do you mean?" Aegor asked, puzzled.
"It didn't take much to convince the Lord Commander and Maester Aemon, but Benjen Stark had to 'discuss' funding with me in the end," Tyrion explained with a laugh. "I expected to be fleeced. At worst, I figured I'd borrow some gold from my brother when I got back to King's Landing. But the amount he proposed? It nearly made me laugh out loud."
"Was it that little?"
"Not too little," Tyrion said, shrugging. "It was about the same as a few months' pocket money for me. In fact, it was slightly less than what I'd already planned to offer. But his expression, so grave as if he were asking for an outrageous sum, was amusing." He grinned. "I pretended to be shocked, bargained with the steward and the craftsman he brought in, and 'reluctantly' agreed. And here we are—"
Aegor couldn't help but wonder: A few months' pocket money? Was it two or three months? Or perhaps eight or nine? Either Tyrion was exaggerating, or the Lannisters really were as wealthy as the songs claimed. Regardless, for Aegor, who had less than a single gold dragon to his name, it was an unimaginable fortune. Just as Aegor was waiting for Tyrion to elaborate, the dwarf suddenly raised a finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and motioned for him to follow.
What kind of secret requires such discretion in Castle Black, where a shout could reach half the fort? Aegor's curiosity was piqued, but he followed without question.
They crossed the training yard in the heart of Castle Black, heading toward the armory, where they found Jon Snow—and a group of recruits.
It wasn't hard to guess what had transpired. A bunch of young men who had been humiliated by Jon during training had ganged up on him, cornering him inside. Tyrion must have stumbled upon the situation while leaving the Lord Commander's quarters and intervened. Aegorvaguely remembered something like this happening but couldn't recall the exact timing.
Seeing the recruits surrounding Jon, Aegor frowned. He stepped aside to clear the doorway and nodded sharply. "Out."
Whether it was the authority Aegor carried as a more experienced recruit, or the fear of Tyrion's Lannister name, the young men hesitated, muttered curses under their breath, and retreated—though they made sure to give Aegor a wide berth on their way out.
"What's going on?" Aegor asked. He had initially sought out Tyrion to thank him and discuss their departure from the Wall, but now that Jon was involved, it felt inappropriate to add salt to his wounds.
"Nothing," Jon muttered, turning away as he packed up his practice gear. He sniffed, trying to hold back tears. Peeling off his armor, leather coat, and sweat-soaked wool shirt, he changed into a rough black tunic. His mind drifted to Winterfell and his family—Robb, Arya, Bran, even Sansa, who had always been distant.
No one had warned Jon about the true state of the Night's Watch. Only Tyrion and Aegor had mentioned it briefly, but at the time, he'd been too focused on proving himself. He had dreamed of fighting alongside the rangers, defending the realm from the ancient enemy and earning glory to show he was no less worthy than any trueborn son. Yet here, survival itself was a daily struggle.
Did Father know what it was really like here? As Warden of the North, he must have known. But when Jon asked to join the Night's Watch, Eddard Stark had agreed without hesitation. That thought stung. Was his father's past kindness just a façade? Deep down, did he hate his illegitimate son?
"No wonder," Jon said quietly, his voice filled with bitterness. "No wonder you're so desperate to leave this wretched place... It's so cold here."
"Yes, it's cold," Aegor replied. Cold, harsh, and merciless. He suppressed a wry smile. No matter how strong or mature Jon appeared, he was still a boy. "But look at it this way—I got lucky. Someone kind came along and offered me a chance to leave. If they call me back, I'll have no choice but to return. But you… you can leave whenever you want, so long as you haven't sworn the oath. You could go back to Winterfell and never set foot here again."
Jon didn't respond. The idea of returning home was tempting, but Winterfell wasn't the sanctuary it once was. With his father in King's Landing, Lady Stark ruled Winterfell, and her disdain for Jon was no secret. Even with better food and warmer beds, life there might still be more miserable than here.
Jon felt trapped. Staying at the Wall was a matter of honor, but it also meant enduring endless suffering. Just like Tyrion, who had been "fleeced" earlier in the Commander's office, Jon was making the same choice: suffering for the sake of pride.
"If you decide to stay, you'll need to figure out how to fit in here," Aegorsaid. "Once you take the black, this place will be your home for the rest of your life. And that life could be long or short—it's entirely up to you. But if you keep using the sword skills Ser Rodrik taught you to humiliate farmhands, blacksmiths, and orphans, someone will eventually put a blade in your back."
"I saw your fight this morning," Tyrion chimed in, stepping closer. "That wasn't sparring. If those had been real swords, you'd have killed them a dozen times over. Do you think it's an accomplishment to humiliate recruits who've never held a blade before? Is that why you joined the Night's Watch—to feel superior?"
Jon's face turned red. He had taken pride in his victories, even if they were against untrained opponents.
"He's a smart boy," Aegor said, defusing Tyrion's harsh tone. "He knows what he needs to know. He's just shaken by all this." Aegor softened his voice, showing empathy. "Jon, let's not sugarcoat it. You came here because you wanted to do something meaningful, but have you ever considered this? If the Wall were a place where you could achieve greatness and live comfortably, why would they struggle to find recruits?"
"I—" Jon faltered. Aegos's words stung because they were true. He needed reassurance, but Aegor only offered harsh truths.
"In my homeland, there's an old saying: before the gods entrust someone with great responsibility, they first make him suffer and struggle so that he becomes stronger."
The words sounded foreign to Jon, but they struck a chord. Aegor omitted the rest of the saying—something about gaining rewards after enduring hardship. It felt out of place in this grim fortress.
Jon, however, interrupted bitterly, "That's easy for you to say. Why don't you stay and suffer with me, then?"
"I'm not a bastard," Aegor replied bluntly. "I'm my family's only son. I don't need to prove anything. All I have to do is return home safely, and I'll inherit the family estate. But you… you don't have that luxury. It's not fair, Jon. It's not your fault you're a bastard, it's your father's. But in this cruel world, you're the one paying the price."
His tone softened again. "If you're feeling lost, let me offer you some advice."
Jon raised his head, waiting.
"What do you think is the greatest achievement a Night's Watchman can accomplish?"
"Defending the realm," Jon replied. "Protecting the Seven Kingdoms."
"No," Aegor said, shaking his head. "That's just the bare minimum. The greatest achievement would be to destroy the White Walkers"
...
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